If He Leaves You Cold in the City
by fangirlgonewild
Summary: CH1 - spoilers through 3-18 "The Unblairable Lightness of Being," CH2 - spoilers through 3-22 "Last Tango, Then Paris" : Blair needs a little help getting over Chuck, rating for language
1. Chapter 1

The thing that makes it worse is that she should have seen it coming.

Blair swallows, practically choking on her own tongue. Her tears came late, much later than she would have ever thought, but they come with a vengeance, streaking the pillowcase she'd rarely used until last week.

She gets up, wiping her face and carefully reapplying her mascara. She needs to eat something, but that doesn't mean she has to look like a slob while she does it. Out the door and down the stairs, it's like a game of _can you can make it to the coffee shop without losing it_?

Her heels click-click on the sidewalk, and Blair smiles in greeting as she passes a familiar face. Her mouth moves in that old familiar way, twisting into the same shape it knew in high school.

She's brought a book, a recommendation from Dan, but she grimaces at the thought of removing it from her bag. What the Hell is she doing, taking reading advice from Humphrey? What is he doing, talking to her in the first place? The Dan Humphreys of the world know the Blairs to be their natural enemy: the enemy of True Love and Happy Endings. Blair decides to return the book to library unopened.

Blair wipes her hands on her napkin, setting her coffee cake aside and pulling out her laptop. She'd bookmarked the Columbia University transfer application last night (in between tissue boxes), and she wants to look over the requirements again. Her Advance Placement scores and current rigorous course load give her the credits she needs to apply, and her essays could be tweaked from the prior year. This could be easy; she could be exactly what they need. If they'll have her. Of course, who wouldn't have her?

And suddenly there's a whisper in her ear about _one of the Bass men having class_.

She's going to be ill. Blair hops up, dashing to the tiny back restroom and offering up a prayer of thanks when she finds it empty. No one to witness her shame; no one to witness her grief. She sinks back against the tiled wall, wrinkling her nose at the thought of what disgusting filth she's transferring from a public toilet to her new jacket, but right now she can't care (much).

Blair wipes her mouth and checks her hair, smoothing her skirt with hands that only shake a little. Her head is on fire, but she's had enough practice at these subtle exits she could do it with her eyes closed. The trick is to look distracted, she knows, as if you are thinking of the thousand-and-one things you are about to set off and do. She pulls open the door, mentally preparing her own list—

"Blair? Are you alright?"

"You've got to be _kidding_ me," Blair mutters.

"What?"

"Nothing. Hello, Vanessa. I'm fine. Busy, you know." Because there she is, little miss Artist, standing at Blair's table, watching her with judging eyes. Blair shoves her laptop back in its case.

"Shouldn't you be off filming something meaningful?"

"Are you _sure_ you're alright?"

This is the question Serena keeps asking her, over and over again in a thousand different ways. She changes the wording (How are you? Are things going well?) or the medium (the phone, via Nate), hoping to get a changed response (a more honest one).

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Vanessa shifts her body, leaning on the chair in front of her. She's relaxed, the picture of health and happiness. Blair hates her.

"I don't know, maybe because you left your nice, shiny computer sitting out in the open while you bolted for the bathroom."

"Maybe I was thinking that if someone stole it, I could just buy a new one."

Vanessa shakes her head, her eyes never leaving Blair's face.

"You aren't that callous."

"Maybe I am."

"Fine, maybe you are. But I know you wouldn't want your personal belongings in someone else's possession."

She has a point, but Blair isn't sure where this is going, and she's having trouble concentrating enough to figure it out. The room is spinning a little, and she could _really_ use some fresh air.

"I guess I'm lucky you were here to stand guard," she snaps, picking up her bag and marching out onto the street. To her utter dismay, Vanessa follows, falling into step just behind her.

"I heard that you and Chuck broke up."

"Your social tact is unparalleled," Blair notes, thinking, _This is why cotillion should be mandatory_.

"While I'm on a roll, you look like shit." Vanessa catches her arm, and Blair can feel the slide of a very different set of fingers over her skin. There's a flash of revulsion, and of fear, the kind of fear that leads you to do very, very stupid things. She pulls away, and Vanessa puts up her hands, a conciliatory gesture.

"Woah, woah, calm down. I just…you look like you're sick, Blair."

"I haven't been sleeping very well," Blair admits in the smallest of voices.

"Is there anyone…has anyone been taking care of you?" Vanessa's voice is kind, and Blair cracks, tears rising in her eyes.

"Come on, come on," Vanessa murmurs, leading her to the dorm. To _her_ dorm, for which Blair is unspeakably grateful. Her own room is a tomb of loneliness, she realizes, curling up on Vanessa's spare bed.

"It's just, Dorota is on her honeymoon, and Serena's usually the one getting taken care of…"

She's very tired and losing the battle to sleep. She almost doesn't hear Vanessa's "I know, Blair, I know," but she does, leading her to wonder how many people Vanessa can rely on to just _know_ what to do when something's wrong.

Blair opens her eyes when she hears the door open, shifting under the bright cotton covers that are definitely not a thread count she's accustomed to. Blair stretches, sitting up to find Dan Humphrey reclining at Vanessa's desk, his feet on Vanessa's bed.

"I doubt even Vanessa Abrams wants your dirty shoes on her comforter."

Dan smiles, shaking his head.

"Good afternoon to you, too. Vanessa had to dash off to work, she asked me to bring you some lunch…dinner, er, whatever meal this is."

He hands her a bag, and she is delighted to find soup and salad from one of her favorite nearby cafes.

"Serena really liked their food, and since you and Serena kind of do everything together, or you used to, or maybe you still do…I figured that maybe you liked them too."

"It's great, Humphrey…thank you."

A comfortable silence stretches between them while Blair munches on her salad. Dan has a book with him, and Blair reluctantly flips open his recommendation. He smiles again, but doesn't comment. Blair concludes that, while she doesn't see the appeal that makes both Upper East Siders and Brooklyners fall into his arms, she can see that he's a good guy.

"Dan?"

Blair locates her purse, pulling out her wallet.

"Yeah?"

She fishes out ten dollars, handing it to him with a small smile.

"You really shouldn't have to cover my…whatever this meal was."

"Thanks."

Blair pulls out her comb and her compact, once again settling for 'presentable' and not bothering for 'ideal.' She's nearly done untangling her hair when there is a commotion in the hall. Dan walks to the door, putting his eye to the peephole for a long moment.

"What's the shouting for?" she asks, "Did someone bring in a pizza and not volunteer to share?"

"Nah, it just looks like a stupid argument," Dan replies, but his face says something different entirely. Blair listens closely for a moment, hearing her name and recognizing the voice.

"Oh," she says, her voice nearly a whisper, "Chuck."

"I think he, uh, wants to talk to you."

Blair nods and looks down at the coverlet, her fingers playing with the folds.

"I don't think he'll try in here, though, if you wanted to avoid him."

She could go out there. Her hands aren't shaking; she could face him. But she should probably _want_ to. And she doesn't, not yet.

"I think I'll pass."

He doesn't say anything, just nods and reopens his book. She swallows, hard, because for God's sake she's done enough crying. And she's certainly not interested in breaking down in front of Dan Humphrey (again, because she's done it before, even if she'd prefer to forget). Chuck earned the right to see her tears...and then he lost it again. The next boy to do so is going to be worthy of the honor, she vows. So Blair sits and pretends to read, occasionally flipping pages that she knows she'll have to go back to if she ever wants to understand this story.

And she hates that she's still letting Chuck make a liar out of her.


	2. Chapter 2

There is a tortured part of her that looks for him at the airport, hoping that he'll have masterminded one more grand gesture designed to sweep her off her feet. Then again, romance is so dead to her she's not sure how she'd respond.

Blair thought she had time, time to show up in person and surprise him. Texting your soon-to-be-ex-ex-lover to say, 'hold up, I'm running late,' hardly screamed classy, let alone amorous. If her life were a movie, he would have stayed there all night, unable to believe she didn't love him. He would have fingered the peonies until the petals were all gone…

The image goes sour in her mind as she realizes the unintentional double entendre.

"Blair? They're boarding first class," Serena says, gathering her purse.

Blair marks the page she hasn't been reading with her ticket and rises to her feet, following her best friend to the gate. Serena practically bubbles with excitement, so thrilled to be single and traveling. She views this as some sort of great adventure, a Striking Out on One's Own. Blair knows this is the image she sold her, but she's glad when Serena pops a sleeping pill and reclines her chair.

Blair orders a vodka martini and reopens her book. She's very nearly done, which is a tragedy in itself, because she seriously doubts Humphrey will be providing her with any literary tips in the future. Even if he finally acts on the torch he's still lugging around for the beautiful blonde snoring lightly next to her, Blair will still be the obstinate preppy bitch who won't let his precious little sister come home.

Maybe she'll read the book again. Most of the minutes and hours she's spent with it open in front of her hasn't exactly qualified as reading time.

_Chuck's face when Dan punched him_. It stood as her first clue, the image that made her stomach twist, even as she screamed indignantly at Dan. Chuck looked at him like he knew he deserved this.

_You, tell her._

Blair will never forgive Jenny for the role she played in this, because Blair of all people knows what it's like to hand over your innocence to a rogue. There's a line and a decision, and you make a choice and live with it. She can empathize with the confusion, the fear, the sadness, even the regret. But Jenny understood the game and the stakes, and Dan will never be able to see that his sister hasn't been a little girl in a long time.

But she also won't forget that Dan was willing to tell her the truth, to do something extremely, painfully hard. And that he chose not to throw it in her face, or let Jenny use it later in some twisted scheme of revenge.

And Chuck just _stood_ there, waiting for Blair to put it together. And she _hates_ him for it. It feels good to admit it to herself, more than hating what he does to her or how he makes her feel. She absolutely loathes that he would have let her go on believing a lie, and, when faced with the truth, that he had no confession to make.

Blair wants him to burn in the bed he made (and slept in). Almost as much as she wants to save him from the flames. But she's not going to think about that right now.

Gossip Girl follows them to Paris.

Serena is furious when someone sends her a link to _Eurotrip, Anyone?_, the Blair-and-Serena feature on Gossip Girl's homepage. Blair is torn between mild irritation and amusement. She really doesn't give a shit if people check in on where she's shopping and snacking, as long as her favorite flats don't sell out and she can still get a table when she wants one.

Unsurprisingly, the Parisians don't really care who Blair is at all. She stands simply as an interesting American, a fault forgiven by her nearly-flawless French and her fashion sensibility. Blair finds that a shy smile gets her more here than her last name.

Blair wants to drink everything in, so she drags Serena from museum to museum, admiring the grace of Degas' fragile ballerinas, then leads them to Notre Dame, to lean against the gargoyles and admire the city from above. Serena talks her into spending a quiet day at a café, and the two giggle over the significance of a crumpled piece of paper on display at le Centre Pompidou. ("It's indicative of the human experience," Serena says, in a haughty tone. "It's what happens to your heart after…" Blair stops mid-thought and says, "It's a Universal Truth: all men are created like trash" instead.)

Pictures of Nate taking a page out of Chuck's (little black) book surface, then news of some bizarre spawn of Georgina and Dan comes to light. Serena begs off sightseeing, and Blair complies, for a while, spending her days with a biography of Marie Antoinette.

"S, come on, we're running out of days to go!" she begs, her face falling a little as Serena waves her off. Blair thinks the promises and goals you set for yourself can be the hardest ones to keep and achieve. But she will not be defeated, not this summer.

So, Blair buys a metro pass and boards a public (!) train, watching Paris speed by as she hurtles into the surrounding suburban countryside. She walks toward a beautifully ornate courtyard, then slips past a palace gate and steps into a fairytale steeped in gold and tragedy.

The palace Versailles enchants her. Blair only half-listens to her audio tour, imagining herself onstage in the theatre, admiring the fountains, sweeping past the gilded mirrors in a stunning gown. She wanders through Le Petit Trianon, then down through the little cottages of Le Hameau.

And her heart breaks a little, because she can understand wanting to play pretend. She has, in fact, for most of her life. Blair pretended that she wanted something until she couldn't tell if her desire was false or real. Fake it until you make it.

She heads back to the main garden and leans on the railing. She's watching the ducks slide over the glassy water when it happens. Someone slams into her, startling her into English.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" she snaps, more irritated at her broken reverie than the physical pain.

The kid barely tosses out an apology before speeding off, kicking up gravel as he rushes to join a group of similarly-aged children nearby.

Blair turns back to the water, scanning the shore for the adult responsible. Words of derision die on her lips when she spots a lone, dark-haired boy on the opposite side of the water. Her breath catches, and she swallows hard. Well, she did want a grand gesture, didn't she? Before she knows what's happening, her feet have carried her around the pond, and her hand reaches out—

"Mademoiselle?"

"Je suis apologize, j'ai pense…j'ai pensé que vous étiez…quelqu'un que j'ai su…"

"I'm sorry," he says, tilting his head as he examines her face, "I wish I were the one you were looking for."

She flushes, because her French is _obviously_ not good enough, and she's never been spectacular at the easy give-and-take of casual flirting.

The boy before her reaches for her hand, bringing it lightly to his lips and making her smile.

"You should smile more," he says.

"Excuse-me?"

"Like all beautiful women, you do not know how sad you look without a smile. But this smile is not as bright as the one you wore when you thought I was another man."

"I wasn't smiling then," she retorts, taking her hand back.

"The possibility was there, and it was…dazzling."

Serena meets her at the door.

"Your father and Roman stopped by for dinner and a night in the city. I wasn't sure when you were gonna be back, but they waited."

Blair nods, looking her best friend up and down. Her BFF looks a little worse for wear, but no longer so defeated, so hollow.

We're going to be fine, Blair thinks, both of us.

She has drinks with her father and tells him all about her plans to reinstate the French monarchy with herself at the head. Blair makes him laugh, and she smiles easily, freely. Roman kisses her forehead as she leaves, and Blair is grateful, not for the first time, that she has so many people to tell her that she is loved.

Now it's her turn to tell someone else.

Blair locks her door and heads to her little vanity, pulling a sheet of vanilla-cream paper from the side drawer. She stares at the blank page a long time, trying to find the words. She doesn't know where he is, or what he's been doing—or who he's been doing it with. These things don't bother her, yet. She'll figure it out, eventually, and then she'll worry about what it means, and how she feels about it.

Right now she's just thinking about him. About the darkness that comes into his eyes at night, and his bemused Cheshire-cat smile. He's so damn stubborn it's a miracle she can stand to be in a room with him for five minutes—but then, it's a miracle she's been able to breathe without him in her life for all these weeks.

Blair puts pen to paper.

_I love you. I'll come find you. We'll go home._


End file.
